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domenica 12 maggio 2013

THE BARD'S NEW ENGLISH (I mean Elven) SERIES!! ENJOY!

Hi
everyone! Due to the large number of elven speaking visitors, our
part-time Bard decided to open a series of stories just for you, dear
long legged, blonde haired, vegan friends! The Bard apologizes for
any mistake he will inevitably make, due to his embarrassing lack of
language proficiency. If you found any major or minor mistake, please
let us know, we will immediately punish him harshly in front of the
whole population (and to send you a Magigram picture of the event to
enjoy, of course).

We'd like to thank our friend Kiley Johnson, A.K.A. Kilwillae, for her invaluable help in correcting this new adventure! Thank you Kiley!

As for all the stories in any language published by our Bard, this one will also feature multiple choices at the end of each chapter. It's up to you readers to choose everytime the path this story will follow. Just post your comment below and the Bard will go on writing the way you choose. The majority wins, of course! Vote and let us know what do you think of the story and the characters!

Our
story begins in the wealthy palace of Naturia, the ever-flourishing,
nature-oriented and GMO-free Capital of the Elven Nation. King
Calidaen has called for the VIP section of his government entourage.
His three sons are also there, in the great hall made of wood, vines,
leaves and giant ladybugs. According to elven architecture, houses
are grown and not built, in a slow process that lasts hundreds of
human lifetimes. And it's still quicker than employing standard
construction companies, anyway.

"So,
can we begin this useless meeting, please? If we have nothing to
discuss I have better things to do, such as staring blankly at the
sky or throwing rocks into the river."
asks
Talion, the king's step-son, a Dark Elf with a bad attitude. His skin
is black and therefore it's common opinion that he is evil, so the
other elves have no love for him at all. Except for girls. Girls
always love bad guys.

Talion
comes from the dark, underground city of Undergraoundia, and until he
was ten he never saw the light of the sun. I know, biology tells us
he should have an extremely white pigmentation instead of being black
skinned and white haired, but this is a fantasy world, and I don't
make rules here. I'm just the Narrator.

"Please,
calm down my child," says the wise king, with his deep and
powerful voice "we must wait for Alianthor, the Royal Sage. It
is the sacred procedure."

"Sacred?
What's sacred about summoning an old fart with arteriosclerosis? He
probably forgot he was even expected here."

"Mind
your language, son," says the king, looking at him with
irritation, "Remember; your skin color can be different from
that of your brothers, but you are a High Elf, and you are expected
to behave in a snobbish, sophisticated and intellectual manner. And
to be vegan, possibily."

Talion's
brothers shake their heads looking at him in disapproval. They will
probably never recognize him as a true brother, Talion knows that all
too well, so why should he bother to gain their respect?

"Oh,
no, I'm sorry father. I'm not really into veggies, you know. I like
meat. Fresh, bloody, still pulsating spider meat," he says with
a grin on his face,"I like to devour it raw and to feel the warm
blood dripping from my chin, while I extinguish life from the poor
spider's body. Oh, and I usually laugh in an evil way when I finish
eating."

The
King sighs. "Disgusting..."

"Don't
look so sad, dad. I lied, obviously. I'm not a heartless barbarian,"
he adds "Spiders must be cooked before eating them. Everybody
knows.

"How
dare you speak in such a filthy manner to our King?" roars
Banelion, one of the Four Great Generals of the Seasons - Bow down
and beg for pardon, dark elf.

Talion
looks at him coldly. "Do it yourself if you like, Banelion. He
is my father, he can always spank me later, if he wants to."

Banelion
steps forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. "What did you
say, darkling? If you could live the life of a prince despite being
nothing but a spawn of evil is just thanks to His Majesty's greatness
and..."

"Shut
your mouths, you two," roars the king, hitting his throne with a
fist, "I didn't summon you here to listen to your irreverent
babbling. There are some serious matters that need to be discussed."

In
that moment the old Alianthor enters the throne room, solemn and
noble.

"I
beg your pardon, Your Majesty," he says with his ancient voice,
"I forgot there was a meeting, today.

Tarion
points at him, looking to his father. "What did I tell you? He
really forgot."

"Ok,
you were right," says the king, exasperated "What do you
want, now. A medal?"

Silence
falls upon the throne room and everyone listens carefully to the
king's speech.

"The
nearby Reign of the human king... err..." he tilts back and his
beautiful personal secretary approaches the throne, languidly
glancing at Tarion with her promising eyes "what was his name,
again?" asks the king.

She
whispers the name in the royal ear, and the king sighs again. "Those
humans have such complicated names for creatures that live so
shortly... well, I will call him ‘the
human king,'
to simplify. With no capital letters, to underline my supremacy over
him."

Everybody
nods, beholding the great wisdom of their King.

"Well,
as I was saying, overwhelmed by debts the human king declared war to
the Banker Dwarves of Nanorum. Unable to pay they decided to
exterminate the creditors, instead."

"A
quite remarkable course of action, indeed," says Kentaurion,
another General, "A little vicious, maybe, but a brilliant
solution to the problem. It's a shame we don't have any debt to test
that by ourselves."

The
King looks at him with royal and solemn anger. "We are the most
civilized race in this world, Kentaurion. We must not indulge in such
violent thoughts, like common carnivores. We are expected to be
neutral and reliable, not violent and stupid like humans. With all
respect, obviously."

"Obviously,
of course," says Tarion, smiling.

"I'm
old, son, but I'm still able to recognize sarcasm. My patience is
wearing thin, do you understand?"

Tarion
sighs and nods "Understood, My King (with Capital letters)."

"Good.
Now, the human king has asked for our help. As usual, I should say."

"Is
that so? And what are we going to do, this time?" asks Tarion,
playing with his knife, "We are sending them a bunch of archers
who will die almost immediately so that we can exit the war without
losing face? As we did the last time, with that ring and the burning
eye and all those short guys?"

The
king shakes his head, slowly. "No, my son. Not this time, I'm
afraid. My spies told me that several kingdoms answered the human
king's request for help. One of them worries me particularly."

"Which
kingdom, sire?" asks one of the elves, trembling in expectation.

"The
Imperium of the Dark Lord himself," says the king, gloomily.

Whispering
spreads through the throne room.

"What?
How come? Mors Tua joined the humans against the dwarves?"

"Yes,
but even wielding the dark powers of Mors Tua they cannot easily beat
the dwarves."

"But...
how is it possible?" says Banelion. "I can't help but
tremble thinking about such a huge army..."

"They
are bankers, for the goddess' sake. They are the ultimate force of
evil. Necromancy and Black Magic are for pussies, today. Finance is
the true dark power," says Tarion "Damn, I hate those
little, wealthy bastards..."

"I
think we should remain neutral as always," says with a feminine
voice the young general Ishta'el. "Our land is protected by
powerful magic and we have no debt with anyone. Let the mortals play
their game between them. Our priority is to guard this forest and act
cool."

"If
they lose against Nanorum their kingdoms will be privatized and
probably transformed into holiday resorts for rich people," the King goes on, "If
they fall we ALL fall. This time is serious and we cannot simply go
there with the usual group of archers, say hello and come back. The
dwarves have been trying to buy our forest for a long time. Do you
know exactly what they want to do, here?"

Everyone
says no, but they can easily imagine.

The
king uses some of his magic to show a Magigram picture of Theobald
Forest, in the northern continent.

"This
was Theobald forest BEFORE the Dwarves bought it."

The
image changes, showing a barren land with a giant crater and many
machines excavating and emitting a black smoke.

"This
is Theobald Forest now.
A mine."

"All
right, father, I got your point," says Tarion, worried. He is a
bad guy, but apart from that he loves the great forest, with all its
plants, greenery and yummy animals. "So, what's on your mind?
Do you have a plan to help the humans to stop this evil power of
destruction?"

The
king nods, then calls for Alianthor. Several times, to be true,
'cause the old elf has fallen asleep during the King's speech. When
he finally wakes up he uses his magic to show the audience three
remote places: a high mountain covered in snow, a scorching desert
full of ancient ruins and a thick forest crawling with dangers of all
kinds.

"You
are right, my boy," says Alianthor, "in these three places
lie the ruins of the ancient elven civilization. In each of them you
will find a shrine, a guardian and a piece of a great weapon.

"Even
more classic. Let me guess: we reach the shrines, defeat the
guardians to prove ourselves worthy, then we took the pieces and
reunite them during a solemn ceremony to please the ancestors. Then
again we choose a stupid... I mean a HERO who will take the weapon
and will show humans, monsters and dwarves the real power of the
elves, right?"

"Well,
a little reductive, but mainly correct. Except for the part of the
choosing. The stupid... I mean the HERO has already been chosen,
Tarion. I think we should all congratulate you."

The
dark elf's eyes open wide. "WHAT? Me?"
he asks in awe, "Are you #@!>< kidding me? It's because
I'm black, isn't it? I'm not a real High Elf, so I'm totally
expendable. Well, I do not intend to risk my life alone to prove that
the elven nation is worthy of respect."

"You
will not be alone in this task, my son. Your brothers will help you."

The
King raises his hand and the loud whispering in the hall ceases.
"You will not travel together, though. Each one of you will
choose a different location and retrieve a piece of the weapon, then
we will rebuild it and give it to you, Tarion, and you will bring
honor to the High Elves."

"But
I'm not even a High Elf!" protests the young warrior, "I
mean, I'll be glad to leave all glory to my honourable brothers, they
will probably suit better in the role of heroes.

"Indeed,
my son," nods the King.

"What
do you mean, ‘INDEED?'"

"It
means that they would probably be a better choice. But the sacred
weapon is a lance
and everybody knows we High Elves are proficient only with magic,
bows, crossbows and throwing knives. You know, we usually kill
things, but we are against violence, so we prefer to kill them from a
distance. But for you it's different. You are a Dark Elf, more brutal
and violent, perfect for the task."

"Oh,
now I AM a Dark Elf, am I?"

Alianthor
reaches the young Tarion and put a hand on his shoulder. "This
is a test for you and your brothers, too, my boy. You are being given
the possibility to become a hero for your people."

Tarion
thinks about it. "You mean all these snotty High Elves will
have to thank ME for everything? And I will be allowed to laugh at
them and call them losers?"

The
old elf nods. "If you succeed, yes."

Tarion
looks at his brothers and grins, "Ok, old fart, count me in.
Where should I start?"

"Just
choose one of the three locations. You are the HERO, so the first
choice is yours."

"Mmm...
well, let's see..."

HERE'S YOUR POSSIBILITIES:

1. Mount Titan: the highest of mountains. A cold and inhospitable place where even eagles, mountain goats and Norwegian climbers refuse to go. On its top rises an ancient ruin, where no man has ever set foot (but just because it's an elven ruin. There are a lot of elven footsteps, inside...) and on its inner altar lies the spearhead, carved from the eternal ice of the mountain.

2. The Desert of Muah: a place so hot that its sands already turned into glass. Beware if you go there, because you will need a pair of tough boots and cool, magical Ray-Bans to protect you from the light of the sun. In its undiscovered regions lies an ancient city of giant proportions, and somewhere, guarded by giant scorpions, you will find the staff, forged by the fury of the sun itself.

3. The Forest of Terror: Don't be fooled by its name. It's just a name, like the Valley of Remorse and the Shrine of Desperation, so don't worry. There you will find the back part of the lance. Be extremely careful, because it is said that a small number of savage elves still dwell in that region. They couldn't be vegan anymore...

CHOOSE YOUR PATH!

"Ok guys, just two or three arrows and we'll go back home. Don't overdo it again, please. Just look cool and stay down..."